


Hunters and Metaphorical Monsters

by knightinpinkunderwear



Category: Dexter (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Abuse, Cussing, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kid Dean Winchester, Kid Fic, Kid Sam Winchester, No Incest, Not Canon Compliant, Pre-Canon, Protective Siblings, Teen Dexter Morgan, Violence, dexter is awkward, harry morgan's questionable parenting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 19:02:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29123121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightinpinkunderwear/pseuds/knightinpinkunderwear
Summary: Dexter couldn't stand when people hurt kids. That had to be the worst thing anyone could do. And Dexter wasn't going to let it happen again.Dean and Sammy deserved to be safe.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Debra Morgan & Dexter Morgan
Kudos: 17





	Hunters and Metaphorical Monsters

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my self-indulgent crossover fic. I made this for me, specifically.

It was kind of weird that he'd even gotten this job, working in one of those shifty motels. Given his mildly lacking social skills and his general desire to be alone. Dexter Morgan wasn't sure _how_ he'd gotten the job, but he wasn't going to complain.

Even if he felt kind of icky just _thinking_ about all the unsanitary things that must happen in the rooms and all the germs and biohazards that must exist on every surface in the place. But the Motel 6 had air conditioning (no doubt spreading the airborne germs everywhere) and he wasn't making the mistake of having an outdoor job again this summer. (Not after he'd broiled and burnt himself into a red and sweaty freckled mess last summer). 

While he was accustomed to the Miami heat, that didn't mean he wanted to spend all summer in the icky sticky sun while his sweat made his clothes stick and stink. Besides, this paid better than being a lifeguard or mowing lawns, and if he was going to get into Medical School then he needed to get into a good pre-med program and he needed money for both. 

Dexter was one of three desk attendants, which meant he was working approximately 37 hours per week, and he ended up spending at least 4 nights a week behind the desk working during the _un-fucking-Godly hours of the morning_ according to Deb.

Mostly the rooms were booked by adults because, to quote Deb again, the motel was a _shithole_.

So, of course, Dexter paid a little more attention when a man booked a room at 1 am and two kids went into the room with him. Then the man left them alone in the motel room, and he wasn't back when Dexter's shift ended at 5 am.

The kids maybe were old enough to leave alone in their home but in the middle of the night, in a shifty motel room?

The next night the man's car still wasn't there but the kids were. (Two brothers). The older boy wouldn't let the younger (who was much shorter and had hair that was about as long as Dexter's but dark, like Deb's) wander the halls alone. But he didn't have the same qualms with leaving him in the motel room alone.

The older boy had short hair that was kind of blond (and if he and his brother got more sun it would get blonder).

He saw the smaller one eye the pool through the sliding glass door in the lobby, (when he'd followed his brother out to the vending machine). But it seemed that he did not ever go near the pool or into it.

Dexter was beginning to get the impression that the brothers were eating far too many sandwich crackers and chips to be getting much food from their father (the man with the shiny black car).

Dexter had a funny feeling in his stomach whenever he thought about the man just dropping the boys off. (He didn't seem to be bringing them enough food during the day either).

The funny feeling only got worse, his first day-shift during the brothers' stay.

The boys left the motel room a little bit, sat on the benches in the sun, and bought popsicles from the dollar store across the street. Then they went right back into their motel room. Dexter wondered what they could possibly be doing to entertain themselves, the tv didn't really work most of the time and there weren't any board games at the desk to loan out and kids that age usually didn't read all day. Even the ones that liked to read.

Their father and his shiny black car never showed up.

(Dexter didn't know why he didn't like it, he just didn't.)

The boys had been there for five days and Dexter had figured out their makeshift schedule, and that the younger boy's name was Sammy. And that the older boy was left in charge of his brother all the time. (Dexter wondered what it was like to be trusted like that by their father). (Dad would never leave him in charge for more than a few hours).

Dexter wondered how often the older boy (Dee?) had been left in charge to be so practiced and accustomed to this. The weird feeling in his stomach got worse. He didn't like the idea of them being left alone a lot like this. (And he couldn't really figure out why it affected him). (It seemed wrong. To leave your kids alone like that). (Parents weren't supposed to do that). (But that didn't explain why Dexter cared about it).

The boys ordered pizza once (eight days into their stay, still no sign of their father). But the phone in their room was busted so Dexter let them use the one at the front desk. (The older boy's name was Dean).

Dean did not like Hawaiian pizza, but he liked his little brother enough to cave into Sammy's _"Please, please, please"_ s. (Dean must share Deb's opinion of pineapple and pizza. Maybe a little less extreme than hers, as Dean hadn't started cussing out the combination or called his brother a freak for liking it).

Dexter understood caving to a sibling's food preferences. He had a hard time saying no to Deb. (And she knew it too). Dexter promised to bring the pizza to their room in case they didn't want to wait in the lobby of a shady motel where someone was definitely breaking some sort of law behind their own doors.

The boys refused. Which left Dexter out of his element, actually having company during his shift. With people who were bored enough to try to talk to him.

"How old are you?" Sammy asked, wiping his eyes and pulling his hair out of his face with the heal of his palm. Dexter hoped he hadn't touched the ratty couch before he did that. (The number of germs and biohazards that it was bound to have...)

"Seventeen." He answered as Dean shoved his little brother with a scolding look. (Dean reminded Dexter of Debra). (Which meant he and Deb would either get along very well or very badly). (probably both).

"Stop it, Dean," the smaller boy said, frowning and scowling at his brother with a little round face before turning back to Dexter. "How long have you been here?"

"In Miami?" He asked. Sammy nodded, his hair flopping. (Dexter wondered if his hair looked like that when he nodded). "My whole life," he answered.

"Have you seen a crocodile?" Sammy asked as if the reptiles were the coolest thing ever. (Which lots of people seemed to agree with, mostly the people who were not Florida natives). (Dexter supposed that they were pretty could

"Not many, mostly it's gators you see around here," He answered.

"What's the difference?" Dean asked with a frown.

"Crocodiles like salty water more and try to avoid people, alligators like brackish and freshwater and alligators are the ones that attack people," he explained.

Sammy listened intently and Dean tried to look like he wasn't as interested as he was.

"And they taste good fried," Dexter added after a beat of rest.

"You _eat_ alligator?" Sammy said as if he was crazy. The older one was torn. Like he wanted to laugh at his brother's outburst but was also confused about the fried alligator.

"Tastes better than tuna," he defended. "-and Deb always steels all the shrimp,"

"Who's Deb?" the smaller brother asked.

"My sister."

Dean laughed, "Sammy takes all the good stuff too,"

"I do not!" the younger boy shouted, shoving his brother in the side, not ducking fast enough to escape his brother's arms. Dean had him in a headlock now and ruffled his hair. (The way Deb flipped his hair into his face, laughing at him).

Their pizza came a few minutes later and Dexter didn't like just how _few_ bills the oldest brother had in his pocket after paying the delivery guy. (He hoped there was more in their motel room, or that their dad would come back to get them food or at least leave them enough money to feed themselves something better than delivery pizza and vending machine snacks).

So Dexter turned a blind eye to when Dean rigged the vending machine to get free snacks. (Because his father still hadn't shown up and he and his brother needed to eat). 

By the next week, Dexter decided that he could not possibly let the younger boy (who didn't have trunks) continue on in the summer heat denied the relief of swimming in the pool. (He couldn't get in with normal shorts because there was no way he and his brother had enough money to wash the chlorine out of the material before it got ruined and bleached.

So Dexter found his three old swimsuits (that Dad asked him to save in case their new neighbors had a son they could pass them onto). (Dexter was sure that Dad would be alright with him giving them to the boys). And he brought them in his bag to work. (He'd started bringing the crappy busted textbooks to read too). (He needed to be better at biology and chemistry if he wanted to have a chance at pre-med and med school.) 

He arrived at 5 pm and set up. Sure enough, like clockwork, at seven-fifteen Dean came to get foodstuffs from the vending machine with Sammy trailing behind him. They looked miserable and sticky and sweaty. He knew they must have been stuck in the room trying to keep as cool as they could, likely keeping the lights off and taking ice from the ice machine. Maybe they had even tried to put their shirts in the tiny fridge in their room.

"Hey, uh, well I don't need these and if you're gonna be here, well- uh, you guys have more use for them than me and the pool is like the only thing that will help with the heat," he said, knowing he was messing up his words. But he had never been great with words or talking to people. He held out the bag, leaning over the counter a little.

"What?" 

"They're swimsuits, you can have them," he said, still trying to hand the older boy the bag hanging from his palm.

"We're not looking for handouts," Dean scowled.

He frowned, "They're hand-me-down swim trunks," Dexter did not know how Dean's mind worked and he was sure he didn't want to. Otherwise, he would have more reasons to strongly dislike the man that was the boys' father.

There was a beat of silence. Sammy squirmed, he seemed to like the idea but didn't want to go against his older brother (who seemed to take more of a role in parenting the younger boy than their father did).

"What do you want for them?" 

"Nothing?" He answered. He really didn't understand social transactions. Why did there have to be hidden intent and depth? Why could stuff just be honest and what they seemed at face value? 

Dean didn't look like he believed Dexter. And Dexter didn't like it. That the boy thought he had to want something from him. (What could he want from a kid who was maybe 10?)

"Thanks," Sammy said after a minute or so. 

"No problem," he responded, out of habit. 

The next day Deb convinced him to let her tag along so she could use the motel pool. (He didn't really get why she wanted to go to that one when there were plenty of nicer pools by home, but he couldn't come up with any reason to say no). 

Deb sat with him behind the desk, complaining about the damn lifeguard who had to be late to spite _her_ specifically. She also called him a dork and a nerd and all sorts of similar things whenever he tried to sneak some studying in. 

Sammy dragged Dean to the pool as soon as it opened, with sunscreen slathered on his face, both boys were wearing the suits he'd given them and ratty old tee-shirts. Deb elbowed him in the ribs as she stood to hijack the pool. 

"Those look like your old ones," she said, pointing. Sammy was in the smallest blue and orange striped trunks. Dean was wearing the plain navy ones. 

"They are," he answered.

"Why'd you give two random kids your old suits?"

"They don't have suits of their own and they've been in that nasty room alone for a week and a half," 

"Yikes," Deb said with an angry frown.

"Yeah," he agreed. 

Somehow Deb convinced them to play one of those splash games. (Like a combination of hot potato and "say uncle"). Which got out of hand (it was bound to happen, knowing Debra). But Deb definitely won. Because she was Deb and Dean really should've known better. 

Dexter almost wished he could take a break and get in the water too. Cool water was the best thing in the summer for the heat, because it was fun. The AC in the building, while wonderful, and shielding from the Miami sun, was not fun. And it didn't get rid of the sticky feeling the way being in the water did.

But at least he wouldn't end up sunburnt and red like a tomato. (Like last summer). 

Deb and the brothers stayed in the pool for hours. Their fingers and toes were probably all wrinkly like raisins.

The boys came in and stopped in front of him a the desk for a little bit, dripping chlorinated water all over the cheap, nasty carpeting.

"Your sister is pretty cool," Dean started, "-for a _girl,_ " he finished with a smug tone as he dragged a soaked and happy Sammy back to their room. 

"I heard that, shithead!" Deb called after him. Dean and Sammy laughed and giggled, running the rest of the way down the hall dripping, as Deb chased them with a towel. 

She made it only ten or so feet before their door slammed shut with a lot of very loud giggles and shrieks of laughter. 

Deb laughed too, then turned to wander back over to him to no doubt distract and bother him the rest of his shift. (Not that he really minded, it was Deb's job to bother him and his job to put up with it because she was Deb).

"Those kids are pretty fun, even if they are kids," Deb said, when she reached him, wrapping the towel around her hips so she could duck behind the desk and steel the chair next to him.

"You're a kid," 

"I'm almost thirteen," she griped, trying to stand her tallest. She was wearing a two-piece and her hair was sticking to her head like it was painted on and her braces were showing. She looked very much like the twelve-year-old she was. 

"Not for another six months," he responded. 

Deb punched him in the shoulder for that. 

"Ow!" 

Dexter knew that he wasn't a normal kid for as long as he could remember. He had these _urges_. He was a monster. He didn't feel.

But he could get angry. And besides bullies picking on his sister and him and the injustices Dad told them about, there was one thing that really pissed him off.

Dexter couldn't stand when people hurt kids. That had to be the worst thing anyone could do. And Dexter wasn't going to let it happen again.

He didn't think. Because thinking wouldn't help anything and would only delay his reaction. Because he was _going to_ help. No matter how long he mulled it over. 

Dean and Sammy's dad had finally shown up. After ditching them for the better part of three weeks. 

The man was obviously drunk, swaying on his feet. He'd smelled awful and stumbled down the hall to pound on the brothers' door. And Dexter had known that it would not end well. 

Dean answered the door and tried to keep the man out of the room, trying to guide the angry and inebriated man to one of the few seats in the hall as Dexter watched. 

Dean's father grabbed him by the collar and nearly hoisted him off his feet when Dexter moved. 

Dean was maybe ten years old. He was fumbling trying to calm his drunken father. The man said something and Dean snapped, the boy suddenly got angry and punched his father in the face. 

The man was furious and started grabbing and hitting his son and Dexter was running down the hallway. Sammy was in the doorframe now, shouting and itching to help his brother but he was so small and Dean had seen him and was screaming for him to go back inside. 

Harry taught him well, prepared him for this. This was probably against the code in some way but Harry would forgive him. He couldn't let this drunken bastard knock around two boys as he watched. And it wasn't like the cops would show up soon enough to actually be of help. Dexter was all they had. 

The man's hands are occupied with trying to harm his eldest son (Dexter can't see if he's trying to strangle the boy or twist his arm the wrong way), so Dexter has the perfect opportunity to take him. 

He hooks his elbow around the man's throat, bending and securing his arm with the other to keep him I a chokehold and jerk him away from his son. 

"Get the fuck off him!" He hisses through his teeth. In moments like this, he knows Harry is right. He is a monster. Because it feels good to have the man in a chokehold. It feels good to know he could kill him for what he was doing to his children. 

The man lets go of his son to defend himself. He's bigger than Dexter, broader, more muscle. He fights like he's used to fighting. But so is Dexter. Weekends and camping trips and the middle of the night spent hunting his father, taking down a cop. 

Dexter wasn't allowed to fight in school or with kids his age. But that didn't mean he didn't know how to. Had the man been more sober Dexter would've been in trouble. 

But as it stands, he was having trouble walking. He is in no condition to hold his own against a trained monster like Dexter. 

The struggle ends when he turned the two of them fast enough to smash the man's head into the nasty metal window frame. 

The man went down. Dexter felt something nasty and dark twisting in him, happily. It wanted more though, he wanted more. He wanted to pull the man back up again and smash his head into the frame again and again for what he just did to those boys, after leaving them on their own for so long. Dexter had a dark inclination that this wasn't the first time the man had done any of that to his sons. And it fucking disgusted Dexter. 

He breathed, in, out, trying to calm himself and how his blood and racing pulse screamed for bloodshed. 

"Are you alright?" He asked, looking to the boys. Sammy had moved and grabbed Dean, and now they were clinging to each other. 

They both blinked. 

"That's our dad! What the fuck, dude?!" Dean shouted, angry. Dexter frowned. "What was that shit for?!" The boy screamed as if he hadn't been a punching bag for the drunk man only a minute or so before. 

"He hit you," Dexter answered. 

Dean looked at him like that wasn't an acceptable answer. Sammy didn't seem to have that same problem. 

"Dad's gonna be mad when he wakes up," the smallest boy said in a whisper. He looked scared and there was no way that Dexter could leave him to deal with his drunken abusive father, even if he knew Dean would take any and all punches for him. 

"I'll call the cops to pick him up,"

"Why?" 

"Drunk driving, assault of a minor, assault, disturbing the peace," Dexter listed, then paused, "So he can't hurt either of you again," and so he wouldn't finish the job and kill him. 

"And what are we supposed to do, genius?" Dean asked, confrontational. He apparently didn't like when other people saw what his father was like. Maybe he was used to defending the man. (That thought made Dexter's blood boil even more than the simple fact the boy was used to having to provide for his little brother and was used to taking punches from his old man). 

"You can stay with me," he suggested without a thought. Obviously, he would help them. They were boys and he was the reason their father would be unable to pay for their housing.

"What?" 

"That motel room is disgusting and probably home to numerous biohazards and other unsanitary things, and I don't want you to stay in a place this... shitty," 

Dean and Sammy both gave him twin baffled looks. 

"There's someone you can call, right? Someone who doesn't... y'know...?" Dexter asked. 

"Doesn't what?" Dean retorted, confrontational again, hiding his earlier confusion. He didn't seem to know what to do when people did nice things for him and his brother. And Dexter did not like th implications of that.

"Abandon and abuse you." 

Sammy shook his brother's sleeve, "What about Uncle Bobby?" 

"He's in South Dakota! Sammy we can't ask him-!"

"What's his number?" Dexter asked.

"It's the middle of the night!" Dean exclaimed as if that mattered. If no one answered then Dexter would wait until it was morning and call again and keep calling until 'Bobby' answered.

"Will he answer the phone?" Dexter asked, simply.

"Yeah but-" 

"What's the number?" he interrupted. He really didn't want Dean to keep talking because then he would have to hear the boy explain in his own words why he didn't think his and his brother's welfare and care was worth waking someone up in the middle of the night, someone they trusted to take care of them. Dexter had the feeling Dean was not used to relying on anyone besides the scraps of support from his father and even that... there was no way his drunken father was anything even resembling reliable.

Dexter was glad he had Harry. Glad he'd been lucky in his foster home placement, that he had never had to worry about abuse or how he was supposed to feed himself or Debra. Without Harry he would've been lost, he would have hurt someone. He would've grown to be a horrible and uncontrollable monster. Harry's teachings have kept him in control. Even if it hurts (no, that's not hurt, Dexter, you don't feel hurt) that Debra can never know him, that he cannot be honest with her.

Dexter hoped that Dean's pseudo-parent role to Sammy due to his father's absence and abuse didn't keep him from letting Sammy know him. Dexter knew that siblings were supposed to be close and know each other really well, really know each other. (Not like how Debra thought she knew him becuase he lied to her. Because he lied to everyone. Because he was a monster in human skin). (Because she would hate the monster that her brother actually was).

Dexter may have been a monster but he still wanted to do the right thing, do good.

First, he dialed the cops. Told them he had a man passed out drunk while trying to attack other guests. (He left out the boys because the foster system was funny and weird and he knew that he was one of the lucky ones, and he didn't want to take the boys away from whatever people they _did_ have that were reliable) (He didn't want them to be kept away from 'Uncle Bobby'). 

Then he dialed Bobby. No one answered the first time he called. The boys looked sullen and sad like they didn't expect anything to go right or for anyone besides their poor excuse of a father to answer the phone when they called. (Dexter _really_ didn't like that). Before he had a chance to re-dial the phone rang. 

"Hello?" A grumpy sleep voice asked. 

"Hi, this is Dexter at the Smiling Dolphin Motel can I help you?" He answered, sticking to the script. Because this was his job and he'd memorized how to do it correctly.

"Ain't you the idjit that just woke my ass up callin' me?" The man grumped. He sounded kind of like Deb when she was sleepy-cranky.

"Are you Bobby?" 

"Yes, this is Bobby Singer, now what in the damn hell are you calling in the middle of the night for?" 

"Dean and Sammy are with me and they say they can trust you to take care of them," 

"What about their Daddy?" 

"I'm not letting him near them again," Dexter hissed into the phone. Dean gave him a funny look. Sammy gave him a different kind of funny look.

"What did he do?" The man on the other end of the phone asked, quiet and serious. Dexter could hear the beginnings of rage in his tone. The calm before the storm. This Bobby was already proving himself a better adult and guardian to the boys. 

"Driving while drunk and assault of a minor," 

The man cussed, "I'll come pick them up, where the damn hell did you say you were?" 

"Miami, Florida," he answered. 

"Damn! I'll get there soon as I can but it'll take me a few days," Bobby said, Dexter nodded, South Dakota was not exactly close to Miami.

"That's fine," Dexter started, he recited the landline for his home, "Ask for Dexter," he instructed.

"Alright, thank you for looking out for those boys, Dexter." Bobby's voice seemed genuine, and he seemed much more trustworthy with the well-being of Dean and Sammy. Dexter hoped his first impression was right.

"They're right here, you can talk to them," he said before handing Dean the phone.

Dean blinked at him, "Hey, Bobby," he started, slowly. Both he and Sammy were looking at him like he'd done something weird or awkward. Which was very likely. Dexter was not great at talking to people, whether it was on the phone or in person.

"Yeah, we're fine," Dean answered into the phone. Sammy leaned closer to the phone to listen to whatever Bobby was saying now. Dean rolled his eyes, lightly trying to shove his brother off (not with enough force to actually _push_ Sammy away).

At five am, Dexter got both boys in the backseat of the old truck Dad let Dexter drive (it was only a few years away from completely falling apart). Dean sat in the back because he didn't want to leave Sammy alone (their bags were in the backseat with them because they wanted to keep them in sight). Dexter understood both ideas and didn't like the reasons behind them. Dexter got the idea from the boys that they hadn't had that many people or things that they could trust or rely on. But Sammy could rely on Dean and Dean could rely on himself. So they did just that.

Dexter only had one person he could really trust and rely on with himself and that was Dad. But Harry Morgan wouldn't be around forever. He wasn't sick like Mom, but sooner or later, all parents die.

That was just a reality of growing up. Sooner or later Dexter would be on his own. (College would be a taste of that). It made Dexter feel itchy in his skin.

Debra would talk to him, but he'd have a secret, the secret to keep. Sooner or later he would realize and actualize everything Harry had trained him to be. The code would be lived and practiced. He would be a real killer. And he would be alone. It was the only way a monster like him could survive.

But Dean and Sammy weren't like him. They weren't monsters, they were normal kids. They were like Deb. They were on their own and their Dad didn't pay enough good attention to them, and he was a drunk abusive bastard enough of the time that Dean didn't fight back that much. They were just kids. They were hurting and they didn't need to be alone. (Not like Dexter, they didn't have to hide their wrongness, their darkness).

Sammy fell asleep during the car ride and Dean had to shake him awake.

Deb was sleeping and Dad was already at work again. He left a note on the fridge, a homicide call (which meant he was at a crime scene with a bloody body) (and Dexter needed to get the image out of his head, the body was most likely someone who didn't deserve to die).

Dexter convinced the boys to bring their stuff to his room and told them to take his bed. Sammy was too sleepy for Dean to effectively argue against the offer (he climbed on Dexter's bead as soon as Dexter had gestured to it).

He grabbed a change of clothes (shorts and a tee-shirt) and changed in the bathroom (neatly folding his work uniform) before collapsing on the sofa for a few hours of sleep.

Then he was being shaken awake. He groaned. The person (Debra) shook him harder.

"Get up, asshole, you're hogging the sofa, and you owe me pancakes," (It was definitely Deb).

Dexter dug his first two fingers across his closed eyes, pulling the sleep from the corners. He sat up.

"Why do I owe you pancakes?"

"Because you're a sofa-hog and 'cause you gotta explain why your sleeping ass is out here and not in your fucking room," Deb answered, crossing her arms, her bangs messily falling over her unimpressed eyebrows. He exhaled, maybe like a sigh. He wasn't going to get any more sleep until he'd made her pancakes and 'spilled the fucking beans'.

Dexter resigned himself to his breakfast-making and bean-spilling fate.

Deb sat on the counter while he mixed the Bisquick pancakes together. With some blueberries from the fridge that looked like day-old balloons (kind of wrinkly and not as plump as they should be).

"So?" she asked.

"So what?" he asked, in deadpan, how she still thought he might gain psychic mind-reading powers he didn't know. A brick wall probably had more idea of what went on in his sister's head than he did. (Not because she was a girl, but because Dexter never knew what people were thinking).

"Why were you sleeping on the sofa like some drunk kid sneaking in after a party? 'Cause, we both know you don't party,"

"Remember those two brothers from the motel?" he asked.

"The ones you gave your old suits to?" his sister asked with a tilted head, her hair sliding over her shoulder like a beaded curtain falling back into place, hanging over the open air.

He nodded, "Their father treated them better by leaving them alone in a motel for almost three weeks,"

Deb's face hardened.

"He showed up drunk, so I made sure he focussed his violence on someone his own size."

"Jesus Fuck, Dex! Are you okay?" Deb demanded, finding the knuckle he split and the bruise next to his chin. She was worrying too much, it wasn't her job. She was his little sister. (He appreciated it, anyway).

"A few bruises, he was really drunk," he dismissed, plopping a pad of butter on the griddle.

"So he's in lock-up?"

"Yup."

"And the brothers?" The pad of butter was almost completely gone now, just a corner of opaque churned dairy cream.

"They're staying with us until their Uncle Bobby can pick them up," He answered, "I told them to take my bed," he added on.

"You big fucking softie!" she accused, shoving him. He wasn't sure how that was a bad thing. Or if he should be insulted. (Probably not, Deb also made fun of him for studying and preparing for college applications).

"I think you've met your daily swear quota."

"You Goddamn wish, I'm just getting started," Deb threatened with a smirk, her braces peaking out in the crooked grin. It was all very Deb-like, the crooked grin and braces and cussing whenever Dad wasn't in immediate earshot. Dexter chuckled.

He poured the first two pancakes out (rounds approximately 7 inches in diameter, letting Deb lean over and drop blueberries into the bubbling batter. (Not in a smiley face because Debra insisted that she was too old for that... whatever that meant). (At least she had stopped trying to spell swear words in the pancakes).

"How is this gonna work?"

Dexter gave her a questioning look.

"Those brothers? Does Dad know?" She elaborated. 

Dexter grimaced. Oh no. He didn't think about that. Harry wouldn't want the boys around him, because he was a monster and they'd already seen a taste of it. (And sometimes it seemed like Dad was amazed that he'd never hurt Debra, even though she was his sister and his job as big brother was to help and protect her). (Dad didn't trust him around kids his own age, Dexter didn't want to know what Harry Morgan would think of letting the monster known as Dexter near two vulnerable children who weren't his family).

"We can't tell him," he said, pulling himself out of his thoughts and back into the kitchen and flip the pancakes in front of him. (They were golden brown and slightly a little too brown in certain spots). "I didn't follow the right protocol, I should've called CPS but-..." He didn't know how to put it into words and he was really not looking forward to the lesson and lectures Dad would give him about how much he'd jeopardized everything about the code and blending in.

"But you already got attached and wanted to make sure they were okay for yourself," Deb finished for him. With a piercing gaze. And she was right because she was Deb and sometimes it was like she could see through him better than he could.

He nodded.

"Fine, I'll help, if only 'cause you're being rebellious for once," Deb sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes like he had spent a lot of time and effort to wear her down into agreeing to collude on the half-formed scheme.

"What?"

"We're hiding two boys in our house and lying to Dad about it, it's weirder and both cooler and lamer than booze, drugs, or parties, but it is definitely a you thing," Deb responded, making less sense than what she'd said before. Though he supposed it wasn't entirely incorrect to think of this as an act of rebellion on his part. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to think about the comments about alcohol, drugs, and parties. (Though he wasn't surprised that Deb knew that he hadn't been to any parties and was generally not a party-person).

Dexter scooped the two pancakes onto a plate (Debra's) with mild confusion and a mind racing with different thoughts and ideas on how to best move forward with the next week or so that he and Debra would be harboring the young brothers. (He really had not thought this plan through).

He made another two pancakes. Then another two, and another two, and another set after that. Until the batter and blueberries are depleted.

There were too many pancakes for him and Debra to eat on their own. there was a very simple solution to that. There were two little-ish boys in his room who had not had breakfast yet. (And Dexter very much wanted to have visual proof of the boys eating, he wanted to make sure they had food to eat).

He turned off the burner and placed the empty mixing bowl in the sink. Walked down the hall to knock on his own bedroom door (which was a little bit weird when he thought about it). 

Dean and Sammy were probably still asleep. But pancakes were best fresh and Dexter didn't want to feed them cold, stale pancakes. (They deserved better than that). (And he wanted to make sure they were alright, it had been a while since he'd last seen them). 

Their bags were placed perfectly at the foot of his bed. Their sneakers placed neatly beside those. (Dexter had a feeling that Dean did that, given how sleepy Sammy was). 

They were sleeping on top of his covers, Dean had his arms wrapped around his little brother. Sammy's face was hidden against Dean's sleeping body. 

"Hey?" Dexter asked quietly, if they slept through it then he would leave and try to make the best of offering them cold pancakes. 

Dean's head shot up and he pulled Sammy closer as he turned to look at Dexter. On guard and ready to defend himself and his brother. (Dexter did not like that). (How Dean woke up like he was expecting a fight). 

"I made too many pancakes, would you guys like some?" He asked, hoping they wouldn't refuse. 

"Pancakes?" A bleary-eyed Sammy asked with a yawn, pushing himself a little bit away from his brother (enough to blink and look between Dexter and Dean). Dean looked at Sammy, then at the floor with a thinking frown. 

Dean's stomach rumbled.

"Yeah," the blondish boy said. And Dexter was pleased to hear it. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this.


End file.
